When It Rains, It Rains

When I woke up this morning, it was a beautiful, clear day.

Because I know my city, though, I packed an umbrella. 

And lucky I did, because the rest of the day poured, and it was beautiful and cold and sideways, just as I remember it. 

Started off the morning with coffee. 

Starbucks with my smallgroup leaders, Heather&Johnny and Heather's sister Lorna. 

Good conversation, a good catchup, and they gave me the sweetest ornament. :) 

Then it was time to begin the day's graduation activities. 

First came the pre-reception, where we snacked on mince meat pies (not actual meat. It's actually a very confusing taste bud experience, like when you drink sprite expecting water. Except here it's cinnamon-y fruit instead of meat) and cute little cups of wine. 

We sipped, supped, and met one another's families (more on that later). Mostly we all stood around trying to pin on our hoods. It was as confusing as the mincemeat. Is it meant to fold on the sides? how high? Matched with the open-front capes, there was just a whole, weird choking experience. But finally, we were mostly pinned and ready to head out. 

We found our seating assignment in the beautiful Sir William Whitla Hall (also was the location of my very first international student orientation meeting and introduction to Queen's) and parked it, an organist playing very dignified tunes while I, in my very American way, took pictures. 

Then, the ceremony began. 

It started with a video of the decorated faculty walking from the main hall into the Whitla hall...in the pouring rain...totally unphased. 

The British take pomp and circumstance to a whole new level, as speeches and bowing and capes and furred capes passed by me, waiting not patiently at all in my chair. 

Then, we were up! 

And they almost said my name right! It was a big step for them. Jehmee forever. The "Ruth" was dead on, though. 

Following the ceremony was the post-ceremony reception. They do not mess around with their receptions, I tell ya. Tea and sweets for all. Yummmmmmm. 

Everyone clustering to take pictures with their families. So.....I stole some old people. 

and I took a selfie with Eamonn: 

And a group shot that made its way into the Irish News: 

And one that didn't make it in. I love how delighted Eamonn looks: 

Some with Sonya (my Easter break travelling buddy): 

And lots with the beffer: 

Amy also made sure I was well looked-after and adopted. I spent the evening with her family--both at their home and to the delicious Barking Dog Eatery--before heading home around 11. 

It's the end of my Belfast chapter on Queen's, but we're not nearly halfway through with the book. 

There are years and pages to come, I'm sure. 

Lasts

• Last lunch with my MA friends (Boojum and Common Grounds after for coffee and traybakes)
• Last goodbye and house reset for any groups I'll be in charge of (Family and Human Services. We liked them very much). 
• Last bonding time with Heather and Jonny (My smallgroup leaders during the past year, featured here with their kids, Heather's sweet sister Lorna, and some cute kids I was babysitting)
  
• Last trip to the special collections (to look up an old MA dissertation for help on how to structure my own)
• Last coffee in the Starbucks on Botanic (the site of many a public tear shed)
• Last night in my room, St. Patrick (They needed my room for one of the other group's students)
• Last "class" (technically that was a couple weeks ago, but I had to return to meet with my dissertation supervisor) 
• "The Last Supper" with the girls (High Tea with Lynsey, Lauren, and Megan)
• Last Botanic outing (dinner with Steve and Hot Greg)
• Last cuddles with Lauren at midnight (really good surprise)
• Last Sunday morning at Belfast City Vineyard (Happy Pentecost, errybody!)
• Last hugs with Kiera and my other church friends (Held it together dynamically until my final hug with Kiera)
• Last hugs with Megs (she came over to drop by a "Northern Irish Must-Haves" gift. So lovely)
• Last tea with Naomi (where I passed the torch of Mac n Cheese and Kool-Aid off to her, we finished the season of New Girl we started when I got here, and she gave me an "on-flight entertainment" gift, wrapped but I'm assured it's customs approved)
• Last bag packed (It was an ordeal. Don't even want to discuss how much cursing happened)

Now to spend my last night in the place I've called home for almost a year now and will forever be part of my soul. Lynsey told me I'm allowed to claim myself as 1/22 Northern Irish now and would be more legitimate in doing so than nearly every American that claims Irish heritage. It made me laugh. And it's probably true. 

These here are my last goodbyes. Wow. 

Let Us Now Forget One Another

I'm working on it, I am.

This whole, making friends outside the house thing.

It's a struggle for me, not like that's any surprise. There's a desire for connection and relationship, but that seems to be equally matched by intense resistance to "putting myself out there."

This past Monday, though, was a moderate step forward for me. About a week ago, I made nice with a classmate (one  of the five in my program) in the Special Collections room (the same day I got in trouble for sprawling on floor). That conversation was followed by middleschoolish note passing during class, orange eating under the table (also during class), and an invite to join the weekly group ritual of pre-class lunch (didn't even know they had been doing that).

Therefore, half assuming that they weren't going to actually show up, I arrived at Monday lunch. And you know what? They did.

Each of we five brought a contribution to the meal (mine was orange bread. Yum!). And we chatted and got on. It was actually very fun, and it made class dynamic feel like, well, like it actually had a dynamic.

The social doesn't end there. After poetry class (and my presentation which went quite well I will add), lunch, and modern Ireland class, two of my church friends lifted me from Queen's for dinner.

Over dinner, we caught up on everything we'd missed while I was away in The States over delicious food at Benedict's. A note on them: they've got this stellar deal for dinner where the time you order is the price you pay. So a £12 meal could potentially be gotten for a mere £5.30.

Afterward, we FINALLY got to go to Bible study. The whole group--by nature of it being the Newcomers Lifegroup--had changed over, so there were lots of new names to learn.

After a full 13 hours away from the house, I came home to my Kanukukers.

Things with them are still going well, but I'm beginning to feel the start of separations and, while still enjoying them in spurts, pulling away bit by bit so as to lessen the social "cold turkey" that'll happen in a mere 7 days when they leave.

I never intended to like them or to get attached to them. I can't express how wonderful it's been to have them here as a transition resource, though. They could never understand just where I was and just how much of a blessing their just liking me has been.

With their leaving, the old fear of forgettableness is coming back up.
They will leave.
I will stay.
They will continue to build relationships with one another and live in community.
I will not.
The journeys divide.

I've had thoughts on that particular note of fear over the course of the past few months, and if I'm sincere in them, then this will be okay.

I've always worked so hard to make myself unforgettable, so that people don't want to let me go. But life isn't about me.

All of creation is oriented around the glorification of Jesus Christ.

I'm not meant to be remembered. The pieces of my own fabricated persona are probably pretty revolting in the eyes of God and not worth being remembered.

So if I'm to be remembered by anyone at all, I would hope that they would forget everything about me save that which is of my God.

and Eamonn reads my nostril flares.

Belfast dialectics and intonations are often beyond my delicate grasp of the language, thus, Eamonn has begun to analyze my nose as closely as the text.

Without saying a single syllable, he knows the moment I've hung myself up on a particular word or concept and goes about to redefine it.

The best moment of class today was the moment he said, "Well, as they say, there are many ways to skin a cat" and I responded immediately with, "ah yes, but the tail is most difficult."

He didn't quite know what to do with me.

And, unlike my last class presentation with him (the class period I fell asleep right after he told me I had completely missed the point of my presentation topic), this one went by without a remark against its verity. WIN.

I will also mention that my apple cinnamon muffins were a hit. I'm starting to drown in apple-based food items, so I've been pawning them off to anyone who'll eat them.

Course today was on Seamus Heaney. His poem "Digging" is quite good as well as it contains the word "squelching," which makes it awesome. It'll dredge up coursemates' reminiscing about their childhood days harvesting peat (really.) and mine of squishing my feet in mud back behind our fence.

I was asked by my classmates to read the poem aloud because they like my "exotic accent." Welcome, Oklahoma. Betcha never got that one before. :)

This picture brought to you by the strangers in front of me on the bus.

Maybe a little creepy that I took this, but I just think it's precious when boys are still young enough that they will still nestle into their mum's shoulder in public. Ooh. Better yet. One of my professors at JBU also goes to my church FirstPrez. His son, probably aged 14 or so, always puts his head on his dad's shoulder during church. Very affectionate. Front row, too! It's the most wonderful, endearing thing. 

At home, I fixed myself dinner and baked apple popovers. Also the easiest recipe and my LifeGroup loved them. Leslie, wife of our leader and from The States, told me they taste like home in America. 

There's not a better place to stick that mural picture, but that's what "graffiti" in Belfast looks like. This one is in East Belfast. Catholic area. Nationalist area. Super dangerous area during The Troubles and certain parts of the year now even (Scary guys, if you can't tell from that blood-freezing image. They are compared to the US KKK. To be fair, though, their opposition was just as terrorous).  

Next up on my list of activities was small group (Did I mention that my small group is in East Belfast..?). Both of my normal friend drivers were out, so I got creative and called up a randomer from the group. Claire and  Malcolm drove me there and Megan drove me home. 

Let's talk about be courageous, be bold, make friends, my friends. 

Maybe that's an area I'm growing in. I'm often assertive on behalf of others, but I am loathe to ask for help or favors myself. Sometimes, though, what I really need to do is take a hit to my pride and be honest, even if it's something as simple as, "I need a lift." And then let somebody else help you. No excuses or justifications about why you had to ask for help this one time. Be gracious and thankful. 

You cannot do life on your own. I cannot do life on my own. It's okay to be the pathetic or weak one sometimes. Don't live there or make it your identity, but don't begrudge yourself that part of the journey either. 

Speaking of identities, LifeGroup tonight was over the topic of taking every thought captive and the false narratives we feed ourselves. Let's talk about group discussions perfectly suited to my present situation. Restructuring my neurological thought patternings is a definite struggle. 

Not a struggle I have any intention of losing, but a struggle nonetheless. And the difficult part about rewriting personal narratives is that a lot of them have roots in truth. I am deeply afraid of being someone not worth remembering, of being forgettable. 

I have been forgotten. My fears in that area have been confirmed many times over. That is a truth. 

That does not make ME forgettable, though, or someone not worth remembering. Therein comes the lie. 

Megan and I, through small group small group time, found we had much in common and that's how she ended up being the one to drive me home. We actually ended up sitting and chatting in her car for a half hour or so after we had pulled up to my house. 

[Offshoot: when people first come over to pick me up or drop me off, they always have the same remark: "so...you live in a castle..." "yeah....." It is quite funny.]

Back to Megan. It was an exhausting, fast-paced chat, but I felt understood for the first time since coming here. There was, if not friend chemistry, a kinship of spirit, a general recognition of and comprehension of where we were both at (sorry Jansie) in life. Our thoughts made sense to one another. 

After four months of trying to make friends and liking people but not feeling "gotten", it was a really nice moment. 

AND, when I walked in the door, I found a package I'd missed earlier from my cousin Krissy. 

A package of love and chocolate and Flarp. That's another person I feel "gotten" by. Maybe it's because our mothers are practically the same person, but Kristina and I are freakishly similar and require very little to completely understand the other. Despite our age difference and our distance, hers is a friendship of great value to me and not one I fear diminishment. 

There was lots of laughter and good thought and good music (Gungor, if you must know). 

Today was a gift. From start to end. I feel relieved of weight today, both in specific areas and in general. 

When the people returned to Jerusalem from captivity in Babylon, they became as men who dreamed. Their mouths were filled with laughter, their tongues with shouts of joy. Then the peoples of the Earth said "the Lord has done great things for them." Indeed. The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy. Psalm 126. 

December, Day 9: Complete. 

A Wilde Box of Kindness

It's been a weird day. Strange talks I never actually imagined happening, strange emails with job ideas, strange packages in the mail, strange feedback from professors, strange behavior from myself. You know I skipped a class today? I've skipped two classes ever. We're talking elementary school until now.

The strange feedback was about my Wilde paper. I made some pretty stupid mistakes (re: started a sentence with a lowercase letter and without a subject, quoted a Wilde letter from "1989," etc), but they liked it. I scored 11 points higher than I anticipated and was told I have eloquence and flair in my writing. The paper doesn't actually count toward any class points, but it was enough to make me feel like the next three are in my realm of do-ables.

For so much of my life, being good at school has been the only thing that's mattered to me. This score and review of my work would have, at one point, been worthy of the refrigerator and a call home.

Their remarks gave me some much needed academic encouragement, but I've heard some other words recently that have stuck more strongly in my mind.

There's a couple in my small group with a math genius son (lucky freakin kid. I struggle with basic addition). Jonny told us that Heather's mantra for her son is this: "It's good to be smart. It's better to be kind."

I am good at doing smart. I am learning kindness.

Kindness is not only offering a spirit of grace and love. It's also knowing how to receive grace and love without flippancy or dismissiveness. It's a gentle gift, but it's a powerful gift.

I received in the mail today a powerful gift of another sort.

My mama sent me Thanksgiving in a box. :) Remember that poppyseed bread I talked up in a recent post?

Actual tears were shed over this box and bread. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It was really nice to come home to. Parents get it. Somewhere in those nine months before the kid comes, parents gain this incredible gift of third sight. They know when something's up, they know the right time to send you thanksgiving boxes or glitter glue in the mail so that it arrives on exactly the day you need it, they know exactly how to drive you completely insane with one single word, and they know exactly how to make everything better. All parents. Related or not. 

One month till I get to be driven crazy by mine in person. 

Oot

Though I will freely admit my hermit ways, I do occasionally mix with the outside world in a social manner. This week, I did so not one, not two, but three different evenings. Not entirely of my own volition, but it's really not the thought that counts...

Uno:
Mondays are community group nights! Shelby and I have missed the past few due to lack of transit, but we made sure to get there this week. Wes (the leader) had told us to bring our fun hats and be ready to party. Uhm. Yes. I am always about fun hats. Get it from my Grandma Ruthie. :) (Family joke. Slash, family reality).

There were no actual fun hats involved this time, but there was a good deal of this:

Everyone but we two Americans had heard of this game. What you do is start out with an empty cereal box. Put it in the middle of the room and, without anything but your feet touching the ground, pick it up with your mouth.

After each "round", the box is cut down further until only a wee flat square on the floor remains. It's such good fun. Even the elderly lady in our group joined in. More flexi than you'd expect. Although the tongue waggling down from her mouth toward the box is something my mind won't be able to erase.

The whole thing was hilarious. Then came a nice friendly game of mafia.

I'd say the evening was fun hat title appropriate. A good community laugh is always an excellent way to render people more comfortable with one another.

Dos:
Evening two was the Storehouse Fashion Show held at Cafe Vaudeville which, by the by, is gorgeous.

The fashion show was high fashion vs. pre-loved clothing, as one of the branches of Storehouse is a clothing bank, the goal of which is not only to clothe people but to clothe them in things they can feel confident in, things they'll like. 

To that end, I can see how that could seem vain or "not quite in the realm of outreach" But to me it makes sense. Rich or poor, you want to feel as though what you wear reflects who ya are, not who somebody else defines ya as or what you're forced to be defined as because of your position in life. I dunno. Judge for yourself. 

Shelby, Abbi, and I met up at the bar with two of our Belfast best friends, Lynsey and Lauren. Absolutely love them. Shelby compares them to squirrels. In a good way. They're quite energetic and talk enormously quickly, especially to one another. We can almost never understand them. It's a time one wishes for subtitles. 

They're a blast to be around, though, despite our need for a translator (who, when she's around is Kiera). It's been a pleasure to have them adopt us into their lives.

Tres:
I done geared up and snazzed up in a right adult (pronounced "ah-dull-t" for you non okies) fashion to attend a postgrad party at Queen's.

Everything from my earrings, dress, heels, and jacket was styled entirely by somebody who isn't me; namely, my mother. It deserves recognition, really. When I left for college, she started reading 'InStyle" fashion magazines. I come home and she's all chatty about Katie Holmes and knows what's hott and what's not and what's on the fashion horizon.

It was all very disorienting, but has been beneficial in the alteration of my street urchin style ways. Guaranteed if you compliment me on something cute I'm wearing, I'll respond with "mom-buy."

Enough about my fashion-forward mother, though. Let's talk about social gatherings.

Dante had a lot of things pretty dead on, I think. But a chunk of his Inferno must have gone missing pre-publication. There's just no other explanation for the utter lack of a social gathering hell ring.

There are few things worse than walking into a crowded room and seeing no one you know.
Conversely, there are few things more relieving than encountering said event then hearing your own name called out.

Helloooooo Patti! Out of the whopping seven of my classmates, only two of us showed.
Patti and I found a nice wee place and chatted over psychoanalyzation and social theory for the better part of an hour. It was actually very nice to get to know her outside of class. Especially because (drumroll please) she'll be joining my class of one! Upping our attendance by half. Thank God.

Did that change the fact that I was 20 minutes late and left an hour early? No. But it made the 45 minutes of attendance quite tolerable, if not enjoyable, indeed.